


Alright, Lahey

by notmonochromatic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friendship, Lab Partners, M/M, Physical Abuse, Romance, Slow Build, chemistry class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-12-21 03:56:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11935812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmonochromatic/pseuds/notmonochromatic
Summary: Isaac Lahey is determined to please his father with a perfect performance in all areas of his life this year: school, work and homework. That is, until long-term crush Scott McCall becomes his lab partner. He doesn't expect the boy with the kind eyes to pay him any attention, and when he does, Isaac's distracted.





	1. One

‘Alright, Lahey.’

Isaac is standing at his locker on the first day of the school year, surrounded by frivolous chatting and the repulsive clang of the bell. The scent of linoleum cleaner and hundreds of warm bodies fill the space that had been empty for weeks.  
He swings the locker door closed and leans against it until his forehead is an inch from the metal. His brunet curls brush the scratched surface, complementary tones being revealed like the silver alloy exposed under the blue paint. 

"It’s going to be better this year. You are going to be better,” he murmurs, not loud enough for anyone to hear over the waves of students. 

Isaac feels the strong voice in his head grow weary after only one piece of encouragement. 

He reluctantly straightens up and checks his timetable. It is yellow with wide fold marks, and whilst the colour is clean, the edges are already flickered with the effects of friction in Isaac’s pocket. The fact that he had Chemistry first didn’t surprise him; he had already gazed at that ruffled piece of paper several times that morning.

As he begins to navigate the corridor, his eyes avoiding the other members of Beacon Hills high school, he bites his lip and clenches the fist at his side. He focuses on the walls as he walks closely to them. He passes a gaudy poster advertising an upcoming school dance and another alerting students to the existence of a school counsellor. 

His hoodie feels as though it’s hanging off him, weighing down his frame like soaked wool arranged on a washing line. His shoes feel too clunky and his backpack makes him bend over a little to accommodate. It carries the spare clothes he needs for later, when, once his final class is dismissed, he will have to make a dash to work. 

Isaac’s discomfort builds gradually as his deliberate footsteps approach room S013. He attempts to assure himself again, this time not out loud.  
‘You can keep on top of things if you try. Work, school and homework can fit together. Dad thinks you can do it – he needs you to.’

It was true. Isaac’s father had spoken to him that summer about the importance of helping him out with work at the graveyard, and he had also received several lectures on the consequences of earning unbrilliant grades. 

He pushes the wooden door of the lab and thinks, ‘I just can’t get distracted.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac attends his first lesson of the year, and his resolve immediately weakens as he is assigned a new lab partner with a friendly face.

“Listen up. I will not tolerate slacking off in my class this year,” Mr Harris threatens. His students stand at the back of the class, without expressions for the most part, as they wait to be assigned a bench. 

The natural light filters in softly through the open slats that veil the thick glass windows. Green spider plants and cacti line the benches beneath them, freshening up the stacks of textbooks that stand in their scuffed plastic covers. 

Harris raps on the whiteboard and pulls Isaac out of his thoughts with a muted flinch.  
“I will be assigning you each a lab partner, so only move when I place you somewhere. This is all part of the steps I’m taking to improve concentration around here.” 

Isaac watches Harris as he consults the seating plan and motions to the gnarled stools, but soon his mind is wandering again. ‘This is good. I’m definitely not going to get distracted if I’m not next to someone I know,’ he thinks.  
Immediately, the biting remark, ‘But you don’t have any friends anyway,’ invades his brain, and his shoulders slump a centimetre. 

His ears don’t quite pick up on his name being barked the first time around.  
“Lahey? Isaac Lahey?” 

Isaac jumps from his despondency and skitters down the aisle. Harris narrows his eyes at him and then points to a bench already occupied by the other half of Isaac’s laboratory dream team. 

As the teacher continues to arrange the fellow chemists, the emerald-eyed boy unzips his heavy backpack with as little noise as possible. He positions his lightly dog-eared notebook on the edge of the desk along with a pen and a marked ruler. 

His head is slightly bowed and his shoulders are hunched, giving the illusion of smallness. He remains looking downwards and doesn’t notice his partner’s face when it turns to his own.

“Hey,” a voice whispers. 

Isaac almost jumps out of his skin. _That_ voice. 

He snaps his eyes to the right and gazes at the gentle angles of Scott McCall’s visage. Isaac straightens and opens his mouth, but he can’t bring himself to form any sounds. 

“I don’t think we’ve been together in a class before,” he begins, “But I’m Scott.” 

Isaac’s stare lasts a few seconds longer before he responds with, “I’m Ise - um - I’m Isaac.” 

Scott smiles and his eyes crinkle kindly. A dimple forms in his cheek, which Isaac has a hard time tearing his attention away from. 

“Listen! Now that lab partners are sorted, I want to get straight into the planned experiment,” Harris states. Rotating the whiteboard, he shows the class a diagram of beakers filled with clear liquid, wires and a power pack, being held up by laboratory stands. “Does anyone know what this process is called?” 

There is silence in the room. Isaac shifts in his seat awkwardly and looks down. 

“Anyone?” Harris tempts. “Perhaps if I told you that there was a circuit here, with positive and negative diodes?”

Isaac’s teeth close around a loose patch of skin on his lower lip in nervousness. ‘I don’t know of any experiments like that,’ he thinks. 

Mr Harris steps away from the board and bores his eyes into a few students that had been positioned on the front row. “How about you, Stiles? Any idea?”

“Hydrolysis,” comes a dry reply. The boy that uttered it is slouching on his stool, as if it were comfortably possible, his plaid shirt weeping at the shoulders. 

Harris turns his head to the side and exhales air loudly. “Then why didn’t you say it, Stilinski? I’m tempted to give you detention for refusing to participate.”

Stiles leans forward and opens his mouth, palm facing up. He seems ready to burst with indignation. 

“But – we’ll move on for now. I want your full attention, Stilinski.”

“Yes sir,” the boy replies. The latent expression behind the phrase sounds fractionally distant from its normally respectful meaning. 

The explanation of the experiment endures. Isaac takes diligent notes, constantly switching between looking at the paper and watching the teacher. His bottom lip stays gripped by his teeth in concentration. When it is time to begin the practical, he swiftly collects the equipment before Scott has the chance to talk to decide responsibilities. 

“So how are we going to do this? Do you want to set up the copper sulphate whilst I put up the stands?” Scott suggests.

“Sure,” Isaac says quickly. His agreeableness is mistaken by Scott for enthusiasm, instead of a nervous disposition. 

He measures out the first volume of liquid in the burette at first, checks the level from several angles, and then empties it with precision into the first beaker. His vigilance contrasts with Scott’s technique, which consists of quick attempts to slot the components of the stands together until they look like they fit. 

Isaac repeats his actions for the second beaker. He holds them at eye-level to check that the levels are even as the artificial ceiling light causes the glass rims to cast gray rings on his face. They blend in with his dark eyes momentarily, the faint purple lids and bags looking like the expensive work of an experimental photographer. 

As the investigation forges ahead, Isaac makes sure that Scott has to do as little of the manual labour as possible, always one step ahead. He wastes no time in packing away the equipment after the allotted 10 minutes of hydrolysis is completed. Soon, the boys are sitting at their clean desk, a diode lying on the table in front of them. Their notebooks are annotated with details of the method and Isaac’s contains rough scribbles regarding his observations. 

“Huh. It worked,” Scott remarks. He holds up the thin black cylinder and strokes the dull copper coating that hadn’t been there before with his thumb and index finger. They curl around the black stick and gently rub at the surface in an attempt to dislodge some of the burnished layer. 

Isaac’s eyes darken as he notices Scott's caress and he quickly looks away. 

“They don’t normally work – not when Stiles and I are partners, anyway,” he chuckles. Scott’s smile is turned to Isaac, whose lips tilt in an obedient response. He still doesn’t meet Scott’s eyes though, and the pressure to hold it together causes him to swallow audibly. 

Scott’s eyes are crinkled and inoffensive as he sincerely says, “I think I’m going to have a good semester in this class. You’re a gre-”

He is interrupted by the wail of the bell. Stiles follows the noise with an incessant declamation of his own as he bounds across the classroom to Scott. He’s already wearing his backpack and carrying the black stick dipped in metallic matte. 

“Look at this, Scott. Look. It worked.” 

Scott smiles and nods at his friend in surprise. He presents the result of his lab team’s experiment. “Yeah, so did ours!”

“So I wanted to talk to you whilst we walk to English. It’s about you-know-who. Actually I don’t even know why I don’t just say her name, it’s not like she doesn’t know about me already. Anyway...”

With Stiles’ hand on one sleeve and his voice still in Scott’s ear, Scott turns around and rolls the diode across the desk to Isaac. “You can keep this if you want.” 

Isaac looks up into Scott’s friendly eyes and murmurs, “Thanks.” His own cheeks begin to take on a rose hue and he turns to his backpack before he can reveal to Scott any more of his messy little feelings. He senses Scott move away from the desk and listens to Stiles’ voice gradually getting quieter before straightening up. 

Among the straggling students, thoughts crash into his consciousness more intensely than before. The intrusions pierce the resolve that Isaac had tried to build only an hour ago. 

Gone was the single-minded determination to resist distractions. He had just spoken to Scott McCall, and he had been kind. 

‘Calm down, Lahey. He was just being polite to his new lab partner.’

But even he couldn’t repress the premature hope he felt at having shared an hour with the considerate boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two is here! Feel free to let me know what you think. I'd be happy to receive some pointers, so don't hesitate :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac reflects in the graveyard, kept company by thoughts of Scott.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Isaac's character development. The next chapter has more Scott & Isaac interaction :)

Half a dozen yellow lights illuminate the graveyard. The colour is a waxy citrine, recognisable as the hue of pale, sick people. It reflects with fragility on the heaving boy’s skin as he repeatedly strikes a shovel into the dirt. 

Isaac already feels tired from school. “You’ve been in one day, Lahey,” he mutters into the crater. As he continues to dig, he allows his thoughts to rumble around his brain unchecked. The isolated graveyard is as safe a space as any for unruly reflections. 

‘Rode my bike to school, the chain came off… I studied maths in the library at lunch… had Chemistry first…’

The image of a boy’s gentle grin is conjured in Isaac’s mind, and it occupies more space than is generally allowed for a passing thought. Clenching his hands around the shovel’s handle, he feels a burn of longing followed by the nervous prickle of unmet desires. 

He tips his face to the sky to dispel the queasy mix of emotions. The stars are obscured by the floodlights, putting Isaac in an environment at odds with the Californian evening. He attempts to make out a shining pin-prick but his hope is flattened. 

‘Finish this and you can use the digger for the rest,’ he thinks. He lets out a yawn and gets back to moving the mounds of earth. 

Work like this is nothing new for Isaac. He had spent the vast amount of his summer helping out his father, labouring on this patch of land and learning about the day-to-day happenings of the business. His father's blatant threat, should he not comply, left him with no other choice but to submit to the experience. 

He had mostly felt indifferent about it, except for the pained moments when he would see kids his age queueing for food in the centre of town or riding their motorbikes together. Overwhelming loneliness would stir in Isaac; especially when he noticed Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski with soft-serve cones, laughing as the sun beat down on them. 

He stabs the ground at the memory and suspects that he is going to be handed the responsibility of running the graveyard once Mr Lahey is no longer able. When would that be? And what about college? Applications are nearing, and other students had started to talk about it seriously. Isaac wonders about the plans his father has for him. 

He straightens up after the dirt is shifted and carefully places the shovel on the ground. Crossing over to the digger, crusty with use, he clambers into the driver’s compartment, vowing to finish the last grave before he goes home.


	4. Chapter 4

School is monotonous. Walking through the hallways alone, shoving sandwiches into his mouth on the way to the library at lunch and then leaving with haste at the end of the day doesn’t exactly leave time for much joy. 

Except, of course, for the hour of Chemistry, featured on Isaac’s timetable like a gold bullion surrounded by iron ore. Due to the focus on textbook work and Harris’ vigilance, there isn’t much time for the boys to talk. But the knotted excitement in Isaac’s stomach and the friendly interaction from Scott makes the anticipation worth it. 

Once the week is over, Isaac gears himself up for a hectic Saturday. He awakes early to make headway on an essay and then runs errands around the town for his father. 

It’s during the softest hour of the afternoon sun that the curly haired boy comes face-to-face with the only person who could make his head spin in a good way. 

He exits the shop belonging to the gardening supplier, folding up a creased receipt for protection in his pocket, and walks quickly down the street. He vaguely hears a motorbike drifting into a parking space to his right, and then snaps to attention when he hears-

“Isaac!”

Scott is straddling his motorbike, helmet in hand and messy hair showing the result of a hasty removal. A light breeze whistles around him, swirling dust until it touches Isaac too. 

Isaac feels the sweet knot tighten in his stomach, like candy curling around a sparking coil. He can’t help but smile a little in jittery pleasure. 

“What are you doing today?” Scott asks whilst he swings himself from the motorbike. He rests the helmet on the seat and paces over to Isaac. 

“I’ve… helped out my dad, I’m about to go home to have dinner,” Isaac replies as he stands rooted to his spot on the pavement. 

“That’s too bad. We were about to see a movie.” 

Isaac blinks. His thoughts speed up. That sounded like an invitation. 'It couldn’t have been. He doesn’t know you. It must just be the way you’re thinking about him.’ He gives an imperceptible shake of the head. 

“Uh,” Isaac begins, “What have you done today?” 

“Practised lacrosse in the morning, then met with Lydia after. We had a good time,” he smiles. 

Isaac’s heart freezes for a beat. Scott had a 'good time' with Lydia? Was Scott going out with Lydia? He hadn’t seen them together like that. He forces himself to utter, “That’s – that’s really nice.” 

Scott doesn’t appear to notice Isaac’s plastic undertone and says, "Thanks. Do you like playing lacrosse?"

A shred of Isaac's composure returns to him as he pauses. "I don't mind if Coach decides we're doing it in gym class. It's better than cross country." 

Scott laughs and shows off the dimple that the other boy so loves, joking, "Well, I'm captain of the lacrosse team this year. That means I _have_ to say it's better than cross country."

Isaac's small smile is genuine as he pictures Scott on the pitch. The Scott that stood in front of him now, talking to him, guiding the others through a game. 

He must have spaced out for a moment because Scott interrupts with, “Hey, we don’t get much opportunity to talk in Harris’ class. If you want to eat lunch with us sometime-”

There is suddenly a roar and a squeal of brakes as a Jeep pulls up beside them. Gravel scatters as Stiles jumps out of the car with a thud and and launches into a spiel immediately, his hands moving wildly. 

“Hey Scott, so I was thinking, the movie we’ve chosen is actually based on-”

“Do you know Isaac, Stiles?” Scott says, cutting him off, eyebrows raised pointedly. Stiles sometimes runs away with himself and makes anyone else in the vicinity periphery.

Stiles stops and stares at Scott before sliding his eyes over to Isaac. “Yeah… you’re in our Chem, right?”

“Yes." 

There’s silence after that. Isaac doesn't know what to say, so he shuffles his feet and looks worriedly between them from beneath his lashes. As much as he can appreciate Scott’s attempt at diplomacy, he feels as though he should just leave. 

Then Scott announces, “You’re a great lab partner. I’m going to get a good grade with you.”

Isaac is stunned and manages to blunder, “Erm-thanks, you’re great too.” There’s silence again and his mind believes that this is a convenient time to think, ‘You are so great. More than I can tell you.’ 

A beeping horn sounds nearby and a troop of girl scouts gaggle past them on the pavement. 

“We’re going to be late. It’s starting at four-thirty,” Stiles states.

Isaac takes this as his cue to retreat. He doesn't want to be without Scott's presence, but he knows when he isn't wanted. “Well, I’ll see you…” 

‘Yes, I’ll see you later, Isaac,” Scott says genuinely. He smiles goodbye whilst he allows Stiles to pull him in the direction of the cinema. 

Isaac half-smiles and turns away. He has to walk quickly now, because he’s going to be late for making dinner if he doesn’t rush.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter shows Isaac's abusive relationship with his father. It could be distressing for some readers, so take care x

Isaac is cleaning dishes in the sink when he hears a door slam and its lock click. The kitchen is warm, aromatic with the scent of steak that had just finished cooking and moist with condensation from the steamed vegetables. 

“Did you go to the supplier?” a voice calls from the front door, male, with a rough edge.

Isaac quickly replies, “Yes sir.” He wipes a dot of sweat off his forehead with his shoulder. 

“And what did they say?” the disembodied voice demands. 

“Uh… they said… they would rectify it.” Isaac swipes a soapy cloth over the outside of a soaked pan. He sees his expression distorted in the metal. If he isn’t mistaken, his cheeks have a little more rose in them than usual. His green eyes look especially sweet, like hard-boiled candies in lustrous wrapping. He is almost tempted to believe that he looks content. 

He hears his father’s footsteps get louder.  
“What did they say they would ‘rectify’?”

Isaac is about to speak but wavers. The memories prior to speaking with Scott seem dulled now. He struggles to recall the exact details of the problem. “The… incorrect order?” 

His father’s figure looms in the kitchen doorway. He knocks the wood with his knuckles, a hard rap. 

“Obviously.”

Isaac opens his mouth. No sound comes out.

His father knocks the wood again, a gesture laden with threat. 

Isaac’s body tenses as he remains facing the window above the sink, gazing unseeingly into the black night. “Dinner is ready. I just need to plate up,” Isaac says, his voice quiet and placating. 

His dad takes a seat at the wooden table. Isaac feels the tension in his body lessen slightly. He releases his grip on the pan into the sink, along with the other unwashed dishes. He’ll finish with those after dinner. 

‘The day must have been stressful for him,’ Isaac thinks whilst he runs a dishtowel through his fingers. ‘He’s moody already.’

He hears his father pick up a mostly empty bottle of steak sauce. It rattles against the other glass condiments on the table. 

“So Isaac,” Mr Lahey commences, “How was your first week of school?”

“It’s been fine, sir.”

“Are you doing well in all of your classes?”

“I think I am.”

“You _think_?”

“We haven’t had any tests yet. I can’t - I can’t know for sure.”

“Do you know everything you’ve been taught so far?”

“I’m working on studying it… It takes time,” he explains.

Mr Lahey stretches the silence. The atmosphere is like a plaster cast around Isaac. 

“So what did the supplier say?”

“Um, they did get the number of top soil bags wrong but they will send more this week.”

“Good. And what about the funeral home?”

The blood turns icy in Isaac’s veins. His words trip when he utters, “The funeral - the funeral home?”

“Yes, Isaac. You were supposed to collect the information from Mrs Ford about the times of the ceremonies.”

He stumbles, “In person? I don’t remember that… on the list… Don’t you just email? In summer I-”

“For God’s sake. We’ve been over this. She doesn’t use a computer, prefers to hand-write it.”

“I will-”

“Always get the paperwork from Mrs Ford. I’ve told you that before.”

There is silence until Isaac whispers, “I’m sorry sir. I forgot.”

Mr Lahey sighs. “Oh, you know what, don’t worry about it. You’re allowed to make one mistake. I’ve asked a lot of you recently.” 

Isaac blinks in surprise. He isn’t quite convinced that he would be let off the hook that easily, but he wants to believe it. 

Isaac grabs the pan of vegetables and portions it on the plates with the steak.

‘Think of something happy,’ he advises silently, in an attempt to calm himself.

‘Scott likes being your lab partner,’ he remembers. With his back turned, Isaac allows himself a tiny quirk of the lip. Despite the stress, his nostrils flare as he fights off a full smile. 

He picks up a plate and gently carries it over to his father’s place setting. He doesn’t make eye contact with Isaac, just stares at the sauce bottle and rolls it in his big hands. 

Isaac feels his body growing tense again in sensitivity to his father’s mannerisms.  
He walks back to collect his own plate and takes a second to breathe deeply as he tries again with, ‘Think of something positive.’

He stands at the counter for a few seconds and can’t help the secret smile that paints his lips as he recalls, ‘Scott asked you if you wanted to eat lunch with him sometime. He asked.’

He bites the grin as he turns around with his plate, pausing again. ‘Does this mean that he might be interested in me?’ He swipes a dribble of fat from the plate with his finger. ‘No,’ he muses, ‘He’s just being friendly. A boy like him-’

“Hurry up!” his father shouts, spittle covering his lips. 

Isaac’s feet scramble and he trips and loses his grip on the plate. It drops to the floor as he frantically follows after it, landing with a thump. 

The upturned plate stands like an intimidating monument. It covers the mound of food now smeared on the linoleum, juice from the meat seeping out. 

Mr Lahey sighs. 

The sudden smash of glass causes Isaac to flinch from his position on the floor. He turns over, his hands supporting his shaking body, his shape like a withering crab. Isaac had not looked into his father’s eyes since he entered the house. Now, he observes the man with wide saucers, frozen in his skull. 

Mr Lahey holds the jagged neck of the steak sauce bottle in his hand. The spray of glass from the lower half is spread on the floor around the table where it was shattered. Sauce lies on the ground, mingled with the shards. Its splashes are exhibited recklessly on Isaac’s clothes. 

Isaac’s father hurls the neck of the bottle at the cabinet to the left of his son.

“It’s easy to smash things, Isaac. Smart boys don’t.”

“I - I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry sir. I never wanted to-”

“Shut up,” he barks. “I’ve had enough of your clumsiness.” 

He caricatures Isaac’s respectful voice as he spits, “All summer, it was ‘I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to drop that.’ Or ‘I didn’t mean to forget a simple instruction!’ And you always waited for me to be around before you did it. You had to have an audience for your sabotage. I’m starting to think you want me to see you fail.”

Isaac’s expression turns blank as it dawns on him that his father’s favourite routine is happening again. It was useless explaining that he was nervous around his dad and therefore more susceptible to mistakes, and that he really didn’t want the punishment that was coming.

He had tried to be better this year, he really had. He just couldn’t do it right. He never got it right. 

He is immobile whilst Mr Lahey stalks closer and feels the pieces of his consciousness disconnect when his mind turns inwards.

He doesn’t notice much going on around him after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be uploaded this coming week :)


	6. Chapter 6

The next day, Isaac feels as though he is touched by everyone he passes. The phantom arms stroke his back and neck. 

In the busy corridor, he scrunches his eyes and swallows. He tugs his shirt away from his skin and immediately drops it to re-cover his torso.

He doesn't want to be there, surrounded by other bodies. He needs open space and cool air. 

"Isaac," a voice calls from directly behind him. 

He whips around. 

"I've been asked to find you. I've been looking all morning," the voice says, with the passionate, self-important tone of a schoolboy who had been given a task. 

Isaac swallows again and says, "Sorry, I'm sorry about that." His goosebumps prickle and his feels sweat seep out of his scalp. 

"Why are you sorry? I've found you. Listen, Scott says you might be free to eat lunch at our table today." 

Isaac's ears must be deceiving him, because in truth, he hadn’t been sure that Scott was being serious when he said that on Saturday. 

A lot of time has passed in that one day. Isaac had actually lost time. Darkness and hard walls blended the hours and when he was finally given the chance to stumble out of his confinement, the same black environment was visible outside. 

"So?" Stiles interjects Isaac's stupor. 

"Uh, I... sure." 

"Good. We're just through here. It's a lucky thing I caught you in this corridor, otherwise Scott would have been disappointed." 

Stiles raises his eyebrows, motions, and turns into the current of teenagers. Isaac follows in his slipstream, his arms plastered to his sides and his shoulders small. 

It is as though someone is turning a volume button, because the cacophony of students' voices grows louder with Isaac's every step. He doesn’t want to go in there. He doesn’t want to be surrounded by all of those people. 

Isaac feels the discomfort radiating from his core. He turns his neck slightly in an attempt to gain some relief. The scarf, which once was a thing of comfort, is like a snake coiling tighter in the school's warm climate. But he can't take it off. Not with the indigo lurking beneath. 

"Isaac!" a familiar voice yells in greeting. The occupants of a table all turn to look at the withering boy. 

He stands amongst the cafeteria clamour. There are bodies gesturing, backpacks on the floor and coloured cartons scattered around the room. Someone brushes past him with a tray, the leafy salad on it shaking. 

The commotion is jostling Isaac's mind. The spiky worry in his brain is back at full force, interrupting his grip on rational thought. 

Scott stands up and walks over to him. He can see the other teenagers' keen observation, so he forces himself to smile but it emerges as a grimace. 

"You might know everyone's faces, but I'll introduce you anyway. Here's Lydia and Jackson, and you're aware of Stiles."

"Yes - hi," he croaks. He can feel Scott’s warmth against his side. In comparison, Isaac feels like a cold black hole. 

The friendly-faced boy grins and says, "Come and sit down!" 

As he obeys Scott, he can feel a particular pair of eyes boring into him. They're blue, harsh, and piercing. 

Isaac’s seat feels too hard against his raw legs.

"So we were just talking about this coming weekend. Jackson says that his parents are going away for two days," Lydia explains. 

"What do you have in mind?" Stiles asks. 

"It's up to Jackson, obviously. But we know what he normally does." 

Jackson’s eyes stop staring as he says, "Yeah, a party, sure."

"Great! I'll set up an invite page," Lydia enthuses. 

Isaac's fingers slowly close around the plastic sandwich wrap in his bag. He pulls it out and hesitantly sets it on the circular table. The tips of his fingers peel the film from the white bread. 

Jackson's eyes are suddenly back on Isaac, who doesn't dare to look up. In his periphery, he can make out which object Jackson's vision is aligned with. 

Two of Isaac's fingernails are tinged with a rinsed red. The blood is washed away but the colour is fast where his skin connects with the keratin. The rest are all scuffed; even the pinkie fingers. 

“Why don’t you come, Isaac?” Scott says smoothly. 

The boy’s insides jolt. 

“Yes, that would be great!” Lydia agrees. “Are you good for Saturday?” 

Isaac pinches his bread nervously. He wants to go to the party. But he can’t be sure that he can sneak away. What if he has to work late, or sit with his father after dinner, or even… what if he’s locked downstairs? 

“I don’t know if I – don’t know if I can make it. My Dad might need me,” He mumbles, avoiding Scott’s face whilst he says it. 

“Well that’s fine, just come by if you’re able,” Jackson butts in. His voice has a hard note, but it isn’t matched by his face, which from the trailing glances, looks to be examining Isaac’s posture. 

‘What is he _doing?’_ Isaac thinks. 

Then, Lydia puts her arm around Jackson. She pulls his cheek to her red lips and delivers an innocent kiss. 

Stiles looks down. 

Isaac mirrors Stiles’ behavior, as the kiss kindles a revelation in him. ‘Lydia and Jackson… so it’s not Lydia and Scott?’ He recalls the moment from the other day when Scott had spoken fondly of his friend. So they’re nothing more than friends. 

But was Scott simply being friendly to him too? 

___

After the final school bell, Isaac hastily threads through the corridors to his bike. He scrambles to fasten his helmet and kicks the pedal into optimum position. 

Isaac feels lighter already. He couldn’t wait to get out of the claustrophobic school. He was actually looking forward to the time he could spend on his own in the graveyard, where he could take off his scarf and not worry about anyone seeing him in the dark. 

Lunch had been momentous. Isaac barely knew Scott’s friends – or Scott, for that matter – and they treated him pleasantly. Apart from the hostile looks from Jackson. Those were better off ceasing. 

He cycles all of thirty metres out of the school grounds before he has to swerve to avoid a polished Porsche. 

Isaac’s feet hop on the concrete, gaining control of the bike between his legs. He doesn’t need this, not now. 

“Hey,” Jackson yells. 

He groans and thinks, ‘Please don’t speak to me. I just need to get away.’ 

“I need to talk to you,” Jackson says, climbing out of the car, which is parked at the edge of the road haphazardly. There are even brambles scratching the front grille, and soil embedded in the tyres. He won’t be happy about that. 

“You swerved into me!” Isaac insists, his muscles tense. 

“I know.” 

Isaac blinks. “You could have hit me.”

“I wouldn’t have. I just needed you to stop so I could talk to you.”

“About what,” he grinds out. What was so important that they were stopped at the side of the road, only a minute away from school? 

“I… heard some shouting last night.”

Isaac’s scraped nails dig into the handlebars. What had heard Mr Lahey say? No… no. He can’t breathe about this to anyone. 

“It’s not the first time. But I was taking out the trash and… I couldn’t sleep after it.”

Isaac scowls as a line of cars rev past them. This has nothing to do with Jackson. 

“I wanted to ask if you were okay.” 

The curly-haired boy lifts his face to boldly glare at his acquaintance. 

“I thought I was exaggerating what I heard, but I saw your hands today and you-”

“Shut up!” Isaac barks. 

Jackson’s eyes widen, taken aback. He can’t recall ever having seen the boy’s aggression before. 

“What are you trying to do? You almost hit me with your car, and then you think you have the right to criticise my family?”

He raises his palms to the boy. “I didn’t mean to-”

“We can’t all have perfect families like yours, Jackson.” 

Jackson, the stupid shit. He didn’t know what his little observation could have in store. Where would Isaac live? 

“I’m just saying that if there are problems-”

“Problems? Problems! Thanks for your concern,” he spits sarcastically, “But I don’t need help from you.” It isn’t like Isaac to lose his temper, but now, it’s as mislaid as a hair pin. 

Jackson stands still for a few seconds. He watches the boy adjust his bicycle helmet in a rage. “I barely ever see you go home,” he says. 

“Do you watch me? Wait for my bike to pull up and mark it on a chart?” 

“No. Of course not.”

“Then stop-”

“I just never see you there when it’s daylight.” 

The anxious alarm in Isaac’s head sounds. The tosser was close.

“I can assure you, I live in that house during the day and at night. Now, I’d like to get home - whilst it’s still light, if possible, so I can put Jackson Whittemore’s mind at ease.” 

With that, Isaac angrily stomps his feet onto the pedals. He speeds away without another glance at Jackson. 

It was ironic, really. He wasn’t going home until much later.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Isaac is replaying a loop of thoughts that had originated in the graveyard after he had calmed down.

He feels deep shame. 'I shouldn't have snapped at Jackson. What if he's told the others about how I behaved? What would Scott say?'  
At the thought of Scott's disappointed face, Isaac's stomach lurches. 

His mind had run this circuit innumerable times now. He needs to distract himself before it burns out his brain. 

__

After wading through the first few periods, Isaac doubts whether he’s wanted at the lunch table. Perhaps they were just tolerating him yesterday. Whatever the situation really is, the curly-haired boy doesn’t feel worthy of a seat in the cafeteria. 

Isaac wavers with his back to the doors, on feet ready to carry him away. He stands for a good ten seconds of deliberation before someone hooks his arm.  
To his left, he sees Lydia’s smile. 

“Are you looking for someone?”

Her firm grip on his arm feels strange, but not uncomfortable. His body is still tender and his expectation had been that nobody’s touch would be tolerable. But Lydia seems safe. She isn’t going to handle him any further.

“I didn’t know if Scott would be in there,” he says quietly.

Her smile doesn’t falter as she assures, “Even if he’s not, you can sit down.” 

Scott and Jackson aren’t at the table, but Lydia and Stiles talk. Isaac tunes in occasionally, beginning to feel comfortable with just being there, listening to them. It appears that the news of his… outburst hadn’t reached beyond the primary sources. Although he can’t say it, he’s grateful of Jackson for that. 

“Oh - I almost forgot. Scott says that he’s leading practise this lunch. Coach insisted on it.”

Isaac nods politely at Stiles. “Okay.”

“He also needs your phone number, apparently,” Stiles says pointedly. 

The boy’s lips twitch as he feels a contented warmth spread through him. 

__

Isaac’s next few days take on a gratified hue whilst he mingles with his new friends. On Wednesday, Isaac oversleeps (much to his horror) and has to skip his morning sandwich-making routine. Stiles responds to the situation by voluntarily ripping his own in half, which Isaac gazes at through a spontaneous film of tears which he bats away with rapid lids. 

Isaac is tempted to release some skepticism about why they’re letting him hang around. He can’t fully bring himself to believe that Scott might be interested in him. But his shoulders become more relaxed and he moves more easily between school, work and sleep. 

He still makes a beeline to the cubicles after sports class so he can hastily change without the other boys seeing his body. It is Friday, during one such occasion, that he hears a gentle knock on the laminate wall.

“Isaac? Hey.”

The boy freezes as a thrill lances through him. It’s Scott. Isaac yanks the long-sleeved t-shirt over his curls, flicks the lock open and faces the boy who’s leaning coolly against the cubicle. 

“I still need to get that phone number,” Scott grins. 

Isaac’s eyes absorb the kind creases and the black hair, slick from joyous exertion. 

“S-sure. I’ll get it out.”

His heart picks up, the palpitations imminent whilst he fumbles in his backpack for the phone. His clammy fingers slide on the buttons. He can’t help it; Scott presence is perfect. 

“I’ll read you mine. Input it and message me,” Scott suggests. 

They run through the motions and Isaac shoots off a quick ‘Hi.’ It’s the end of the day so he moves quickly to pack his bag. 

“So are you coming to the party tomorrow?” Scott asks. 

Isaac fiddles with the shoelace on his gray trainer whilst he hesitates. “I want to. But…”

Scott struggles to prevent his face from shading with disappointment. He smiles in reassurance, but he’s such an open book. “See if you can get away. But don’t worry about it if you can’t, of course.”

Isaac’s suddenly empty smile replies, “I will. And thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter appears more of a filler than the rest, but it’s been written to show Isaac gaining confidence through friends. It’s important that he doesn’t tie his independence to Scott because romance is unstable by nature. 
> 
> The next chapter is coming within a few days. Thank you for all of your kudos! I have loved replying to comments too :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for my posting schedule being off this week. Here's the new chapter though :) Thank you for your kudos and comments!

It’s Saturday morning and the shovel in Isaac’s hands feels heavier than usual, the dry soil looks especially dull and the air feels lifeless. Workmen trod in and out of the graveyard occasionally. Isaac acknowledges them with a polite smile, but it’s devoid of emotion. 

He has a few hours of this left until he can go home. He can tell that he won’t be satisfied with that. He is itching to spend time with his friends, and a wave of trepidation runs through him whenever he thinks about the missed opportunity to see Scott. 

He doesn’t want to disappoint Scott, either.

So when the phone in his pocket buzzes, Isaac’s mind bursts into colour. It’s three lines of an address. He knows the location already, of course, but it encourages him to indulge his desires. 

‘That’s it. I’m going,’ he thinks assertively. ‘I’ll have to sneak out. I’ll make sure my Dad doesn’t need me first.’ 

He carefully types a short response thanking Scott for the thought. 

That evening, Isaac feels on-edge.  
The kitchen counters are spotless; aside from their plates and cutlery, nothing needs to be cleaned. Isaac’s vigilance is rooted in the intent to make a quick exit. 

“What did you do today?” Mr Lahey asks.

Isaac stares at him. Already fidgety, this mind-game could give him enough nervous energy to shake. 

“I dug, Sir. At the graveyard.” 

“Good,” he responds, as if he didn’t already know where Isaac had been. He had ordered him to do it, after all. 

“So, uh, do you need me to do anything tonight?”

The pace of Mr Lahey’s fork movement slows. “Why? Are you ‘busy’?”

“I’m just - tired. And I’ve got homework.” That was a good lie. Isaac would hopefully be left for a few hours to do that ‘homework’. 

After dinner, Mr Lahey retires to the living room. He riffs through a catalogue of some kind and proceeds to turn on the TV.

His son hovers in the kitchen for a few minutes more and then retreats noiselessly, changes into a clean shirt and falls gracelessly out of his bedroom window.  
__

Music penetrates the dusk. Isaac walks past the Porsche in the driveway and refuses to let himself think about what he’s doing as he enters Jackson's house. He takes in the speaker system, the moving bodies. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Stiles talking to a brunette girl. He’s moving his hands animatedly; they must be getting on well, considering he doesn’t look at Lydia throughout the conversation. 

Isaac’s eyes fixate on the dining table, decorated with a cascade of Solo cups. There are a few grease-stained pizza boxes with remnants of cheese melted on the cardboard and a cluster of glassy spirits. 

He walks quickly to the table and is greeted by Lydia’s smile. 

“Hey! You came!”

“Yeah I made it,” he replies with a shy smile. 

“Scott will be pleased.”

“Uh... I hope so. Would you like help with any of this?”

Lydia is balancing a tray of artful cocktail glasses. “No, it’s fine. Do you want one?” 

“They look great, but I’m not going to dri-”

“Isaac!” a bright voice interrupts. Scott bounds over to him from across the room. He thrusts a filled cup into Isaac’s hands and smiles. “I’m really glad you came.”

The curly-haired boy grins. Scott comes face-to-face with him, all twinkling eyes and asymmetrical mischief. 

The sight of Scott is inducing some immediate feelings in Isaac. He doesn’t break eye contact, absentmindedly taking a few sips of the clear liquid inside the cup.

“Isaac, were you just saying that you didn’t plan on drinking tonight?” Lydia says after a cough, her tone carefully lacking pressure. 

Isaac pulls the cup away from his mouth and his eyes away from Scott's. Yes, he is avoiding alcohol. He needs to be capable of entering the house quietly at the end of the party.  
There’s also a part of him that lacks trust where alcohol is concerned. When his father drinks sometimes… those are the worst nights. 

Lydia swaps his cup with another. “Soda,” she winks. 

Scott, Isaac and Lydia chat for a few minutes, until she leaves to talk to Jackson. Scott practically drags him around the house after that, greeting people and talking whilst Isaac listens. Scott involves him occasionally but doesn’t push. 

Isaac cozily realizes how relaxed he is and becomes lost in a happy gaze. In his line of vision, the patio doors are open, revealing a rippling swimming pool being enjoyed by a group of partially clothed teens.

Scott slowly places an arm around the taller boy’s shoulders. Isaac’s eyes shut briefly whilst he melts into the touch. 

“Do you want to find somewhere a little more quiet?” Scott asks.

Isaac can’t quite believe he just heard Scott say that. He nods against the boy’s fluffy black hair. 

They soon find themselves in an upstairs bedroom. Scott keeps hold of Isaac whilst he fiddles with the lock on the door.  
“This okay?” he mumbles.

“Yeah,” Isaac says, and then he bravely steps towards the bed. Scott leans to keep his fingertips in contact with Isaac’s torso. 

Isaac laughs lightly and allows Scott to reign him back in. They stand an inch apart, their lips parted in invitation. Isaac can barely smell any alcohol in the air between them; he notes that they're both in control of their actions. 

And then Scott's lips press against Isaac's. He closes his eyes and enjoys the brand-new feeling. It's soft and... when their mouths open, it's wet, but it's good.  
He decides that he likes it.

Scott doesn't break the tender kiss but he backs Isaac up to the bed. Isaac falls onto it whilst the other body lowers itself down on top of Isaac. Scott supports himself on his arms. 

Isaac reaches and curls his hand around the back of Scott's neck. He feels a hand gently tug at his brown curls and his can't stop the swelling heat that runs through his body. 

Until an ice-cold thought pops into his mind. What about his tinged skin? Bruises?

‘What if this goes further than kissing? I can’t let him see me,’ he thinks. With the rate that this is going, they could be losing clothes in no time. 

Isaac’s lips still. He pulls back a little, as much as the mattress flexibility will let him. 

“Is everything alright?” Scott’s voice says softly.

“Yeah, I… Just haven’t done this before,” he answers, as though that's his worry. 

“Kissing? Or other stuff?” 

Isaac whispers, “All of it.” It’s easier for him to just agree than explain his predicament.

Scott wriggles into a sitting position and waits for Isaac to mirror his pose. The boy looks down awkwardly, but Scott whispers, “Hey, don’t worry about it.” 

He then adds, “Kissing you is nice though.”

Isaac smiles briefly but keeps studying his pants, picking up on loose threads and tiny bobbles on the fabric. He isn’t sure that he’s on board with anyone touching him like that. Only a moment ago, he was looking forward to sharing an experience with Scott. 

“Do you want to stop at where we’ve got to tonight?” 

Isaac nods gratefully, still refusing to look at the other boy’s face. 

“That’s fine,” Scott says. "Just tell me what you want to do next time - especially if it’s to stop.” 

Scott’s fingers lace with Isaac’s, generating what feels like a forcefield of calm around the two. 

They exit the room, Isaac trailing behind Scott. Their hands are still clasped. The curly-haired boy offers a shy smile, which Scott returns in a bright grin. Isaac’s chest feels warm again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to quickly explain the focus on consent in this chapter: I don't think that Isaac would have as clear an understanding of consent as others his age because of his background, and he would be reluctant to tell someone that he didn't want to do something. In my mind, Scott senses that something is different about Isaac's ideas of relationships so he ensures that consent is being freely given. Xxx


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features an abuse scene that's more graphic than the previous one. If you'd like to skip it, the plot points are in the notes at the end of the chapter xx

Isaac greets the night air with a ridiculously happy beam on his face. He has only a sip of alcohol in his bloodstream, but another addictive chemical is flowing in his veins. He’s never felt so content. 

His journey across the street is a leisurely meander. Isaac notices the way that the moon shadows the oblong lawns. He realises that the summer warmth hasn’t quite left the air yet, despite the rusting leaves.

The party’s noise pollution is dampened when Isaac nears the side of his house. It causes a sense of disconnection, which he bats away. 

He creeps to the living room window. It is deliberately unlocked. His fingers close around the handle, easily angling the glass for his crawl inside. He manages to take most of the weight on his arms to avoid a thud and carefully stands up. He’s turns around to close the window when-

“I needed you tonight. Where were you?” The voice spits the phrase into his ear. 

Isaac doesn’t respond with words, more of a strangled moan when his father’s arm crushes his neck. 

“I said, where were you?”

“I was - with - some friends,” he chokes. 

“Liar. You don’t have friends.”

“I do.” He struggles in a breath. “I was at a party with them!”

“You expect me to believe you are friendly enough with people, that some of them invited you to a high school party? Even for you, Isaac, that’s a thin lie.” 

Mr Lahey drops Isaac and stands over him. 

From the floor, Isaac says, “I’m not lying Sir. It’s across the street.”   
He adds quietly, “You can see it.”

“Are you back talking?”

The boy’s mouth closes. As if it mattered where he had been anyway. His father didn’t care for the right answer; a simple look would have confirmed it. Mr Lahey just wanted revenge. 

Then, rage dashes through Isaac. It may have been energy converted from the pleasure he felt at the party, but he feels it in every part of his body.   
He jumps up and races into the hall.

“What, you’re going to run? To where?” 

Isaac’s hand closes around the gold handle of the front door. He frantically pushes it down. Once - twice - three times - it’s not budging. He peers out of the textured glass. 

Mr Lahey’s assured footsteps dominate the hallway. 

Isaac looks around for a key. He darts to the sideboard. It’s not there. 

Isaac feels the heat of his father behind him. He whips around, but his arm gets caught in the clamp of Mr Lahey’s hand. 

“Since you clearly don’t want to be in your bedroom, I think you can sleep downstairs tonight.”

His father’s breath is venomous on his flushed face. The rage bubbles beneath the skin. 

Isaac is shaken and hauled up by the collar. His rage vanishes and just as quickly as it arrived, it is substituted with a sudden panic. 

“No, no please,” he begs desperately, “Please!”

Mr Lahey just hauls him over to the stairs. 

“I won’t do it again. I’ll stay in!”

Isaac scrabbles to gain a foothold on each step as he’s being dragged down. 

“The time for bargaining was before you decided to run off without asking me, not after.”

A shameful sob escapes Isaac’s lips. 

Mr Lahey suddenly turns and hits the boy in the chest. It knocks Isaac’s back into the cement steps and his head jolts with the force of it. 

The basement may as well have been a vacuum for Isaac’s resigned whimpers. The tears squeeze out from beneath his closed eyes. 

He feels the cement floor graze his skin. The cold metal box gets closer. His breaths become quicker and shallower. 

And here it comes - the final protest, which he knows is in vain. He kicks his legs but Mr Lahey just smiles pleasantly and suppresses him. 

The lid’s hinges screech and Isaac rapidly curls in on himself. He doesn’t want to risk a limb being trapped under the door. It seals with a clang. 

He can hear the drag of the chains, the hateful sound, being methodically arranged around his confinement. 

__

Inhale.  
Hold it.  
Exhale.

Isaac concentrates on his breathing. He needs to keep it regular - the small space has a limited amount of oxygen, and he doesn’t know how long he’ll be in there. 

Hold.   
Inhale slowly.

He tries to steady his mind. It flicks between worried thoughts about the cramped space and fuzzy images of the party. There’s a ruffled sofa littered with soiled plastic cups. There's a boy pushing them off, standing next to him. 

Scott's face flashes into his consciousness. He can't think straight as he rushes, 'Would he object to this? I hope he would.'

It's tight. The walls are hostile and they reach for Isaac - they stroke his back and neck. Just like Scott did. 

Then Jackson rears his smug little head, sneering at Isaac. 'I told you.'

Isaac hits the side of the freezer, more out of frustration than fear. Fucking Jackson. He had it all. All Isaac wants is to get out of his own life, be somebody else.

With a sweep of resignation, Isaac thinks about having a normal childhood. He longs for a loving family, movie nights and the frivolity of being on a sports team. He wants to worry about college, just like the other teenagers. He wants to spend time with boys, without all of his shit getting in the way. 

And he's not going to get that. Is there much point in fighting? 

___

By the time that Isaac is sitting on his bed upstairs, shirt off and his body stagnant, the thoughts of rebellion have diminished. 

He calmed down in the box. His ego shrank, and as he lost himself, his body seemed to faint in and out of existence too. 

And then his father took him out. He doesn't know how long he was trapped for, but it was a manageable amount of time. He was still functioning, wasn't he? 

He was silly to think he should look for a change. Where would he go, and why should he shake up his and his father's life when he could cope with it? 

He hates it. It hurts him, he knows that. But what's better: complete uncertainty, or expected discomfort?   
He could carry on living as he always has. Life wouldn't ever be perfect for Isaac, but at least he understands this routine. 

Isaac slowly raises his hand to the base of his neck. He begins to robotically rub circles into his skin, the touch feather-light and just enough to provide some comfort. The rest of his body remains stock-still, the ghostly flesh blotting the moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isaac enters the house and is caught by his father, who forces him into the freezer. Inside, he feels anger at the situation he's in, but resigns himself to it because he's convinced that a comfortable life isn't available to him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!   
> So, this chapter is a set-up for the following action. After this chapter, it’s quite fast-paced so I will post some chapters together. I apologise, as there may be a wait of a few more days than usual x

Harris strides into the room and stakes his claim on the teacher’s desk with the crack of a briefcase. It makes half of the seated students jump. 

It is Monday morning, eight fifty-five am. Bleary-eyed teenagers enter in drips and sluggishly will themselves to stay awake, their bodies’ shapes blending in with the gray atmosphere. 

Stiles comes into class with Scott. The skin around Stiles’ eyes is stained purple but he still has a sharpness about him. Scott, on the other hand, looks like an animal just out of hibernation. 

Isaac’s vision had been fixed on the door since the moment he’d been sat down. He was reluctant to move - it makes his skull feels like it’s rattling around inside his head - but now he devoutly follows Scott’s face until it’s situated half a metre away from his own. 

“Hi,” Scott greets, looking softly into Isaac’s eyes and sitting down on the stool slowly. He’s transmitting comfort and there is a sense of hopefulness present. 

Isaac’s mind washes with warm colour as he matches the small smile. “Hi.”

But like a cluster of intersecting lines crossing and crashing on a clean slate, distressing mixed thoughts cause his smile to freeze. He wants to embrace the comfort he so longs for in Scott. But he needs to maintain a distance. 

“Are you alright this morning?” Scott asks gently. His hand is resting on the edge of the desk and he’s angled towards the curly-haired boy. 

Keeping a calm front, Isaac replies, “Yes, thank you.” 

His interior tells a different story. Scott’s feelings seem to be the same as they were during their last encounter. It’s as though nothing has changed between Saturday night and this moment. Perhaps for him, nothing has shifted. 

“I’m really glad that we spent time together the other night,” Scott says quietly. He looks almost vulnerable. 

Isaac stops himself from leaning closer at the words of sincerity. He watches as Scott unzips his bag with a stuttered streak of noise, places a pile of books on the table and carelessly dumps a clear pencil case on top. Isaac says nothing. He knows that he’s supposed to reply to what Scott just said, but he’s hesitant to indulge his feelings. 

The raven-haired boy glances at Isaac’s blank face. What’s going on? Scott’s teeth press down on his lip in silent worry. Can he sense the disconnect?

He fills the silence: “I would like to do it again. If you’d like it, too, obviously, I mean- if you’re free-”

The school bell interrupts.

“We’re using textbooks today,” Harris announces. “It’s page 108. Read the investigation and…”

Isaac and Scott hover over their words. Neither boy is concentrating on the teacher in front of them as Harris talks. 

And then Isaac gives in to impulse. He skims his hand over the desk and touches his pinkie to the side of Scott’s. 

“Yes, I’d like to,” Isaac breathes. 

The corner of Scott’s mouth curves upwards. 

__

Scott’s answer to spending more time together is apparently a priority seat next to Lydia at the lacrosse game that night. He is without the usual composure when he invites Isaac at the end of the Chemistry lesson, as though he’s worrying about more than just his invitee’s presence at the game. 

But Isaac just considers for a second, and accepts. 

He had decided to balance his life in whatever way he could, and this was the time to prove it to himself. Isaac cycles straight from an hour of work, attempting to soak up some of the sweat from physical exertion in the toilets before he meets with Lydia. 

He starts to settle down once the game begins. He cheers with enthusiasm when he’s supposed to and is transfixed by Scott’s lithe silhouette on the field.

He swallows reflexively when he notices Scott capably directing a few of his teammates and has to close his eyes for a moment to maintain his repose. When he opens them, his gaze is held instantly by Scott, who is grinning from across the field. Isaac grins back. 

The time whizzes by and suddenly, they are down to the last few minutes of the game. The spotlight falls on Stiles when he scores the winning goal for Beacon Hills and is swarmed by the rushing crowd. 

Lydia jumps up in elation and hugs him. Isaac allows himself to be pulled onto the pitch by her, and they join the scrum of spectators who are moving like parts of a hive mind. 

Isaac raises his eyes to look for a familiar head in the crowd. Chants of “Beacon Hills!” and the laughs of players being lifted up fill the ecstatic bubble. 

His arm is grabbed nearly immediately by a boy sporting a mass of soaked hair. 

“Isaac! We won!” 

“Hey, well done!” Isaac replies. He notes the feel of Scott’s hand around his clothed arm. “You deserve it; I saw how good a leader you were.”

Scott’s face lights up. “You really think that? Thanks a lot. But I’m only good because the people I’m leading are good.”

Scott bravely rests his arms on Isaac’s shoulders. “I wanted to ask you – I’m studying for the next Chemistry text tomorrow night. Would you like to come over?”

The morning’s awkwardness had now subsided and it seems that Isaac’s inhibitions are waning.

“To – to study?” 

“Yeah. We’ll study really hard,” he says with a cheeky cock of his eyebrow. 

Isaac blinks slowly. Focus. ‘I can make it there if I’m home with dinner ready for 8:00.’

“Sure, I’ll come over.”

“That’s great,” Scott says, “You should come straight after school. Follow me there.”

The boys stand in the centre of the scrum until it dissipates. Scott’s arms stay on Isaac’s shoulders, whose own come to delicately rest on the small of his back.   
__

“Do I have your papers from last week’s Chemistry test? Yes. Do I have any idea why some of you are failing this early in the semester? No.” 

Harris paces up and down the aisle between the rows of benches, a pile of graded papers threatening the students. 

‘That’s not me, right?’ Isaac worries, chewing his lip. His grade can’t be poor. He needs it to be good. His father will-

The paper is dropped on the desk. 

There is a single letter, average-sized, an angry shade of red. 

C.

The pace of Isaac’s heart increases. 

‘No. Please, no!’ he thinks. 

He’d worked at this. Several times, he’d stayed up into the early hours, studying for this test. This couldn’t be happening. 

His breathing rises to match his heart. His hands clench under the table and he stares at the offending letter with a tense neck. 

Scott’s looks at Isaac. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” 

Isaac sucks in a shallow pant and fights to unclamp his teeth. “Nothing, ‘m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

His body shudders as he says, “Yeah.”

“If you need to-”

“I need the bathroom.”

“Okay, just run and I’ll tell Harris.” 

Isaac stiffly scrapes back his stool and makes a beeline for the door. He stumbles along the hall and crumples against a locker. He scrunches up his eyes and shields them with his hand. 

He will suffer for this. Getting an acceptable grade for his father is the main thing he set out to do, and he hasn’t managed it. He’s standing on dangerous ground. 

__

The school day draws to a close, despite Isaac’s belief that he would be stuck in the anxious atmosphere forever. Leaving the building relieves a crushing pressure from his shoulders and the squeeze that he receives from Scott allows him to temporarily throw the apprehensive thoughts out of his mind. 

Generous drags of air fill his lungs on the cycle, and then he’s pulling into Scott’s empty drive, his spokes spinning when he rests the bicycle under the porch at the other boy’s friendly instruction. 

“You coming?” Scott winks. 

Isaac grins, but his mind doesn’t resist one last lance of worry about the school day as he steps over the threshold into hopeful territory.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters are here. I apologise wholeheartedly for the wait. Thank you for reading x

There is a background scent of clean linen, the type that accompanies a warm load straight out of the dryer. The house has a comforting undercurrent, with mellow light fixtures, generous rugs and auburn wooden floor.

“So what are we starting with?” Scott asks, dumping his backpack onto the kitchen table. The boys are stood on either side of it, opposite each other, Scott draws open the zipper and pulls out some books. 

To be quite honest, Isaac doesn’t want to start working on anything. He needs some escapism, just for a short stretch of time. 

They had better not actually be studying this evening. 

“Should we look at the content for Energetics?”

Isaac lets out a tiny, playful groan. 

“Calorimetry?”

The groan is exaggerated this time.

Scott looks up. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Isaac says quickly. “I just didn’t feel like doing any more Chemistry.”

Scott nods. With genuine concern, he asks, “Is this about your grade?”

Isaac grimaces. 

“Hey, a C isn’t bad. You’ve passed, and you can’t expect to be good at everything,” Scott assures. 

He didn’t expect to be good at everything. Of course he isn’t capable of being good at everything. He just wanted to do something right. At least his father would have been happy then. 

“Do you want to talk more about it? You were… quite shaken up before.” 

Oh. So he definitely saw that. ‘Everyone saw that,’ he grates to himself silently. The tingling embarrassment floods into his cheeks as he tries to steady his thoughts with closed eyes. 

And then Scott leans over the table and places his hand gently on top of Isaac’s. The sensation sends waves through Isaac’s body, spreading outwards from his hand. He thaws at the touch, vulnerable and strengthened simultaneously. 

Isaac opens his eyes and gazes at Scott with dark pupils. “I don’t need to talk about it,” he says slowly. 

“Alright,” Scott murmurs. He maintains eye contact with Isaac. 

Isaac folds his fingers around Scott’s. The atmosphere around them charges. 

Isaac wants to make a decision now. He wants to feel freedom from his worries. 

He leads Scott around to his side of the table with their intertwined hands. 

Scott smiles and falls into Isaac’s tug, placing his hands on the taller boy’s waist. He looks up at Isaac’s face, which is clouded with longing, and grabs a handful of the fabric around his waist. He unlaces his hand from Isaac’s and removes the hoodie. 

The action ruffles Isaac’s curls, who leans down and places his lips on Scott’s. They both pause at the contact, as though suspended in temporality. 

And then Scott parts his lips and Isaac welcomes the opportunity to explore further. Scott starts to walk backwards and Isaac follows, whilst simultaneously running his tongue along the edge of Scott’s bottom lip. 

Scott rips off his own ‘Beacon Hills Lacrosse’ hoodie in the doorway of his bedroom, briefly breaking contact with Isaac, who uses the time to dart his eyes around Scott’s bedroom. He takes note of the black poster on the wall, the basketball, the messy desk… 

And then he’s being pushed onto the bed by Scott. He wriggles until he’s not hanging off it and grins at Scott.

Scott returns the expression and climbs on top of Isaac. He supports himself on his arms and lowers his head to kiss Isaac again. 

Isaac pulls him flush against his body and wraps his hands around the back of Scott’s head. 

Wasn’t there… wasn’t there something he needed to remember? Last time… wasn’t there something… he needed to refrain from doing? The thought distantly pings in his mind, but he dismisses it. 

With three of the lowest buttons still hooked, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and drags it up over his head. He clutches the flimsy fibre of Scott’s shirt. 

This is what he had wanted all day. It can be said that he had wanted this for years: true escapism, getting lost in an endorphin-fuelled haze with Scott McCall. Isaac will waste no energy on his fears now.

“Whoa… wait,” Scott says breathlessly as he pulls away from Isaac. 

Isaac reaches at the sudden loss of Scott, who sits up and looks at Isaac’s body with an expression of horror. 

Isaac’s blood ices, like liquid nitrogen has been pumped into his circulatory system. 

That was it. He was supposed to keep his shirt on. 

The offending objects are greenish, some with yellow tints. They’re growing fainter but they are still there on Isaac’s bruised-peach skin. 

All of a sudden, the boy’s mind crashes. 

How could he have been so careless? So stupid! Where was his self-control? He knew better than this!

But another thought invades too: Scott had just pushed him away. 

“Who did that? Who- Tell me who did it,” Scott demands. 

“Nobody did it.”

“Isaac, that’s not true.”

Isaac huffs. “Can we just carry on?”

“Carry on? Are you joking?”

“It’s not important. We don’t need to talk about this.”

“What do you mean? Isaac, you’re covered in bruises. How can we not – you’re - ” Scott is at a loss for words. 

“Are you turned off now? Is that it?”

“What? No! It’s not about that. Someone’s hurt you.”

Isaac contemplates for a second. His face becomes hard before he sits up and scoops up his shirt. He stands and strides out of the room.

“Where are you going?”

Isaac says nothing.

“Hey, let’s just- ”

“I’m not ‘talking about this’. I don’t know why you think it’s such a good idea to talk about problems, because it doesn’t help.”

Scott follows Isaac out of his bedroom. “How would you know? You don’t talk about yourself to anyone.”

Facing away from Scott, Isaac wrestles the shirt back onto his torso. 

“You don’t tell me anything. I’ve realised it before. I know very little about you.” 

Isaac grabs his pooled hoodie from the floor in the kitchen. He begins to feel anger fraying the edges of his detachment. 

“Then why have you shown any interest in me,” Isaac spits, as an accusation, not a question. 

If Scott had been in Isaac’s viewpoint, Isaac would have seen the other boy’s face falling further with hurt. But he was not, so Isaac continued to slip further into the red zone. 

“I know your character,” Scott offers insistently. 

Isaac stands, fully dressed now, his hands and teeth clenched. 

“Isn’t that enough?” Isaac says.

But he can feel it, that feeling of a lost cause, as though the room is turning grey and unravelling. 

“No! It’s not enough.”

“Then we’re done.”

“What?”

Isaac yanks up his bag and swings it onto his back. 

“I don’t understand. How can we be ‘done’?”

Isaac walks to the front door.

“We’re ‘done’? Just like that? Hey, where are you going?”

“I’m going home.”

Scott surges forward and implores, “Can we please just discuss-”

“No!” Isaac shouts. He pulls open the door and quickly paces out of it, roughly grabbing his bike. 

Scott is taken aback. He stands alone with his eyebrows raised in the silent kitchen, half of his face shadowed by the gaping front door. 

__ 

Isaac stumbles through his doorway of his house. He collapses against the hallway wall and lets out a silent tear, exhausted and lost. The droplet rolls down his nose and splashes the fabric of his jeans. 

What is he doing? He’s pushed Scott away, the boy he feels for like nobody else, the person he may very well- no, don’t say it, and now he’ll be left without friends, perhaps for the rest of high school, and then he’ll be stuck in Beacon Hills digging graves whilst everyone else his age goes off to college and - 

But it has to be done. He can’t leave his father. 

The sound of a speeding motorcycle engine rips through the night. It pierces Isaac’s consciousness as it travels past his house. And then the noise returns, nearing the crumpled figure silhouetted in the light pouring from the open door. 

The engine is silenced at the end of Isaac’s drive and Scott frantically climbs off it.

“Please Isaac, talk to me!” he urges, storming up the drive. 

Isaac eyes stay shut. He’s lifeless on the hall floor.

“I want to help. Please.”

Scott’s footsteps become louder. Isaac groans to himself and then forces his body to stand. He takes up the doorway just as Scott approaches it. 

“You need to leave,” Isaac voices. He feels as though it’s coming from someone else’s lips.

“You can’t expect me to leave you. Especially not now that I’ve seen what’s happened to you.”

Isaac spits, “Would you just go?”

Scott’s eyes shine in the yellow light, wet and honest. Isaac can see a little fly flitting around his head. 

Scott takes a deep breath and says quietly, “I know it’s your Dad.” After a second of reflection he adds, “I’m not – I’m not that naïve.”

So Scott has put two and two together. Isaac can’t deal with this now. Mr Lahey will be home soon, and what can Isaac say to Scott after this to assure him that everything is okay? 

It strikes him then. Scott will always want to do something about this. Isaac can’t possibly maintain a relationship with Scott.

“I knew something was wrong. I just thought… maybe you were anxious in school. And I thought I could help,” Scott continues.

Isaac grinds his teeth and bites out, “Stop.” 

“I didn’t say anything before. I should have asked you sooner and I was wrong to do nothing. But please, let me help you now,” Scott pleads. 

Isaac needs to get rid of Scott before his father witnesses the scene. 

He knows what he has to do. Isaac looks Scott squarely in the eyes, emptying his face of emotion, pushing the hurt down, down, masking the brink of his breakdown with the cold sentence: 

“Do not speak to me again.” 

He turns and slams the door.


	12. Chapter 12

Across the street, the windows of Jackson’s house have their blinds drawn. They glow with a vanilla backlight, one lightbox shading a silhouette duo. 

After moving the motorbike closer to those windows, Scott knocks with a slight hesitancy. It’s not the time to be making a social call, he knows. But he has to talk to someone about this. 

The door is answered by Lydia, who is wearing a dress with a floral crimson pattern. 

“Scott, hi!”

“Hey,” Scott forces out. His voice manages to crack, unable to handle a monosyllabic word. 

“Are you alright?”

“No,” he says, and bites his lip. He can feel an intense prickle of emotion in his throat. “Did you... see me fight with Isaac just then?”

“You fought with Isaac? About what? Here, come inside.”

Scott wipes his feet on the mat and sinks into Lydia’s firm embrace. 

The house is homely and smells doughy, as though the walls are lined with pizza ovens. Mixed with Lydia’s understated orchid scent, Scott has the compulsion to cry. 

“Do you want to sit down? We’ve just made dinner. There’s more than enough.”

“Yeah, there’s definitely enough,” Jackson seconds, stepping out of the kitchen. “The making was more fun than we expected.”

At least one couple is having a good night. Scott aims to smile, but it’s clearly not happening.

After moving to a seat at the table, Scott is surrounded by slices of comfort food. They sit in a triangle, in silence, all waiting for Scott to speak. 

Even Scott has to wait for himself to be ready to speak. This isn’t like him. He just can’t get his emotions stable enough to engage. 

But Jackson takes the cue to start talking about something meaningless. They join in, sprinkling in bits of conversation about the lacrosse team and school.  
This must go on for twenty minutes before there is a lull and Scott decides to accept his airtime. 

“Isaac said that he didn’t want me to talk to him again.”

Lydia’s eyes widen in sympathy as she confides, “That’s awful, Scott. We’re here for you though.”

“What happened?” Jackson says, his voice appearing with a somewhat hard edge. His face is careful, and it looks as though he’s trying not to lean forward in interest, as though he’s invested in this. 

“I saw… He’s being abused,” and Scott proceeds to explain to Lydia and Jackson the evening’s events. 

“I thought there was something happening,” Jackson admits. 

Scott fires, “You knew?” 

“I live across the street from it. I heard some things. I didn’t know if it was just a family fight, or... something else.”

“Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you do something?” Scott rises higher in pitch. 

“I confronted him and he wasn’t having it. It made me think that he was okay - at least for a little while.” 

“I should have realised,” Scott laments. 

With a shake of his head, Jackson says reluctantly, “He doesn’t want us to do anything about it anyway.” 

“He was just scared of what would happen. He certainly doesn’t want it to continue.” 

“But he deserves a choice, Scott. It’s his trauma - he has a right to decide what happens in response to it.”

“I understand what you mean. But Isaac isn’t safe enough to make a good choice here. He’s in danger. We have to ignore what he said.” 

And then Lydia floats over to the window. She brows are slightly furrowed. She’s moving as though compelled, with no specific indicator as to why. She capably opens the blind with one drag and stares out across the street. 

“Lyds, what’s up?”

“Can you hear it from here?” she asks quietly. 

“Huh?”

“When there’s shouting. Can you hear it from your house?”

“If I go outside, I can.”

Lydia swiftly unlatches the window and shunts it open. She says, “His father’s car is in the drive.” 

“How long has it been there?” Jackson questions. 

“I don’t know.”

There is silence in the kitchen for a few seconds. But then through the window there is an almost imperceptible ring in the air. It’s heavily muted. Of course, the house is across a wide road.

All three look at the others in the room for confirmation. 

“Scott, did you say he was worried in class today? Over his grade?” inquires Lydia. 

“Yeah,” Scott croaks with a constricted throat. He puts a hand over his eyes. 

“Jackson?” Lydia asks. It’s the question. She doesn’t need to say anything else. 

He says tensely, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. It is.”

“We need to call the police,” Lydia states with urgency. 

Scott wastes no time in lunging at the phone. He quickly punches the numbers on the keypad: 9-1-1.  
__

The first thing that Isaac notices through blurry vision is a burst of bodies and objects, spilling outwards from one projectile source. 

He’s viewing it in slow motion, the flailing of arms after the door is kicked in, the glint of one of the men’s guns, the blue shirts. 

It’s ethereal, cloudy around the edges. There’s a pressure on his neck that feels both amiss and familiar. There’s a pile of broken glass in the corner and an upturned dining chair. 

The figures grow closer until they’re in touching distance of Isaac. They look like they’re trying to wrestle something. Collateral hands brush Isaac and the pressure disappears. 

Isaac breathes with newfound fervour. It’s what he imagined inhaling syrup would be like. 

He feels like he’s falling, but something blue makes him hover above the ground. 

There are further crashes, but he ignores them. He’s unsure of how long he stays inside the house with the figures.

The first thing he sees when he emerges into the night is a band of teenagers, varying in height like the pipes of an organ. They’re at the end of the drive standing with the cars. 

‘They’re not my father’s cars. My father only has one car,’ he thinks. 

“Oh yeah? You’re doing great, buddy. Let’s sit you down now.” 

He can hear the rustle of the foil blanket. He feels like a spaceman. Or a spaceship. He laughs out loud to himself. As if a person could feel like a spaceship. 

“Can they? Okay, I’m just going to check something. Could you hold out your arm for me, just like that? Well done, that’s good.”

He wheels his eyes to the people again. They’re watching him. A certain face among them looks hard and stoic, like it’s deliberately remaining detached. 

Hmm. Dark hair. Nice. 

The quartet doesn’t approach.  
__

Inside the bald walls and sterile environment of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, there is a draught of tension. 

“Should we try to see him now?” Stiles asks. 

When they last saw Isaac, he wasn’t in tune with reality yet; that was made clear by his vacant stares. Scott had heard the evidence of it too – the confused garbling about space or something. 

“No,” Scott answers lowly. But it’s been an hour so Isaac must be communicative by now. 

It’s just that Scott can’t stop turning the same phrase over in his mind, the sentence where Isaac rejected him. Doesn’t that mean that he should stay away? Jackson had a point before - it’s prudent to respect others’ wishes. 

They can hear Sheriff Stilinski speaking to Melissa McCall in the white tiled hall outside the ward occupied by Isaac. 

Stiles shifts his feet several times, balling his fists and fidgeting. He had been driven to the hospital by the Sheriff on the condition that did not use this as an excuse to find out about the crime scene. Stiles didn’t care about that. His insistence was due to a concern for his friend. 

“But won’t he want to see us? He must know what you did for him, calling the police. And Jackson said Isaac only told you to get lost because he was worried that you might call the police. But now you’ve done it, won’t you be alright again?”

Scott sits in silence. Stiles’ logic sounds simplistic, but he has a case. 

“Perhaps not yet,” Lydia advises. 

Scott’s mom approaches then. 

“He’s going to be another hour,” informs Melissa. “Thank you for what you’ve done here. Isaac has expressed his own thanks several times, to anyone who would listen, really.” 

At this, Jackson can’t help but lower his eyes in guilt. This had happened to Isaac for longer than could be helped. 

“He needs a quiet period now, to begin to come to terms with what’s happened. I have a concern regarding Scott though. Can I have a word?”

Scott jumps out of his seat and follows his mom to a quiet corner of the corridor. 

“I need to ask you something. You mentioned that things were going well between you and Isaac the other day, but is there a problem now?” Melissa’s hand touches Scott’s in comfort. She continues, “Because I asked him if he wanted to stay at our house for some time, until he’s placed somewhere else. He asked me to check that it was okay with you first.”

Scott’s eyes glaze with moisture. “We fought before, over this. He told me we were done.”

“Are you done?”

“That’s what he said.”

“But he didn’t object to sleeping in Castle McCall.”

Scott smiles at his mom’s playfulness, and then he whispers sincerely, “I don’t want us to be over.”

“Well, speak with him tonight.” Her tone becomes a kind warning as she says, “But remember that he’s been through a lot. On top of it, we can't forget that the boy has essentially lost his father.”

“Of course, mom. I'll be careful.”

They embrace for a few seconds. Scott rejoins his friends who look at him expectantly. 

With his nerves sparking, he announces, “Isaac’s sleeping at my house.”

Jackson nods, immediately stands and pats Scott on the shoulder. “We’ll go. You two need to talk.” 

Lydia agrees, “We’d best not overface him.” She hugs Scott and then pulls Stiles up, who is apparently unwilling to leave. The trio carve a leisurely route to the exit.

Scott can hear Stiles’ voice getting quieter, saying, “We’re definitely seeing him tomorrow. I don’t care what anyone else says. We have to.”

Scott sinks into a chair, the vinyl seat cool against his legs. How would this go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this story has started to become satisfying. I'm never certain that what I'm doing with regards to the plot works properly, but I guess we'll find out when all is published - there's just one more chapter and an epilogue to go. Thank you for reading x


	13. Chapter 13

There is silence except for the atonal sprinkling of the shower coming from Scott’s bathroom. The digital clock blinks ‘2:07 am’ in glaring red letters. 

Scott is sitting on the edge of his bed. He does nothing, simply hovering, his nerves feeling like the tingle of a numbing cream beginning to wear off. His emotions are mixed: he feels a tug of forgiveness, but the jot of annoyance present cannot be denied.

His mother had gone to bed already, but she had urged him to wake her in the event of a problem. She had driven home with Isaac and Scott both in the back of the car. Neither had spoken. There was only Melissa’s soothing voice to keep the tensions contained. 

The water turns off with a quiet clunk. There is a prolonged sound of friction, a towel being run quickly over someone’s body. And then Isaac emerges from the fogged bathroom with sodden curls and a mismatched pajama set belonging to Scott.

Scott looks up hesitantly. 

Isaac has strangulation marks, and there is a bandage on his forearm dressing the wound he earned from putting up a fight. 

“I want to say that I’m sorry,” Isaac says quietly. His face is directed towards Scott, but his eyes are pointed away. 

“You don’t have to say sorry.”

“I do. I treated you horribly.”

“You were under pressure.”

“But you were trying to help.”

Scott shrugs. 

Isaac takes a bold few steps and sits on the bed beside Scott. Isaac can sense the reluctance on Scott’s part. He really is trying. 

Scott says emotionlessly, “The guest bedroom is made up. It’s one door down, on the left.”

“No,” Isaac replies with a trace of desperation. “I mean; I’d rather not sleep alone.”

Scott frowns. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s late. I think you should go to the guestroom.”

Isaac looks hurt. “Is it because I said we were done? Because I wasn’t thinking straight when I said that… Or do you just not want me?”

“Neither - of what you said. I simply don’t want you to feel pressured, or for us to do something regrettable.”

“I don’t feel pressured. And we’re just sleeping. Nothing else.” 

“You must feel like you need space.”

“I don’t know what I feel-”

“Isaac, you shouldn’t have to go through this tonight. You’ve dealt with enough.”

“Please, can I just talk now?” he asks with a pleading tone.

Scott’s mind shadows with guilt at the other boy’s sincerity. Isaac just asked to speak. He shouldn’t have to do that.

So he’s not going to give him verbal permission. Scott just waits for Isaac to continue. 

“I don’t know what I feel now. I know I’m confused… I mean, where is my dad? Shouldn’t I see him? They said something to me at the hospital, but I don’t remember. My head wasn’t present.”

His whisper crescendos into a harsher whisper. It wrings his throat. “What’s going to happen now? I heard them talking about me being placed with a foster family. I’m so confused, Scott.”

He stands, paces and shifts his hands in agitation. “Truth be told, I don’t know whether the best thing for me is touch or isolation. And I don’t want to annoy you. I’ll go away if you tell me to now. But I don’t think I want to be alone with my thoughts.”

Scott’s heart wrenches. Of course he wants to have Isaac close to him tonight. He’s just worried about what might happen between them. One wrong move risks their relationship being sabotaged. 

__

In the dark, Scott can feel the warmth of another body as if it were conducting through the covers. 

“Where are we, in the whole friendship-relationship thing?” a small voice asks. 

“Where do you want us to be?” Scott mumbles.

“I thought… Never mind, ignore it,” Isaac peters out.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Brush it off. Say what you wanted to say,” Scott’s voice grows a little harder. Isaac is finally talking. And he is going to talk. 

Isaac sighs inaudibly. “I thought we might try it properly.”

“Were we not trying it properly the first time?” Scott cannot reign in his annoyance at what he perceives as a casual comment from Isaac. 

“We were. I’m sorry.”

Scott imagines kicking himself for what he just said; Isaac does not deserve it. He’s been through so much. But Scott can’t deny his own feelings, and their relationship is a separate issue to what happened with Isaac’s father. 

They lie still for several minutes. The sky is still inky behind Scott’s curtains, but it will not be so for long. 

Scott finally speaks. “It hurt before. I felt there was something between us that shouldn’t be thrown away.”

“I felt it too. Feel it, even.”

Isaac skims his hand over the covers and folds it into Scott’s. He waits with bated breath for the other to clutch it. 

Scott accepts Isaac’s invitation. He whispers, “Of course I want us to be together.”

“Me too.”

“Then we have to get to know each other more.”

At that, Isaac’s body hems closer to Scott’s. “We will.” 

Scott places his arm over Isaac’s body and draws up to their backs and chests are touching. 

“Thank you. For calling the police.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I’m just grateful you got out.” 

They fall quiet again and Scott’s breaths become even. His arms relax around Isaac. 

__

Isaac is almost asleep when he notices the peach glow oozing out of the cracks in the curtains. 

“I-” he stutters. Isaac’s breathing turns shallow. He can feel a hot, raging figure next to him.

“You’re useless, Isaac,” his father whispers into his ear.

“No, no, no-” he pleads. 

“Why are you so stupid?” he spits, yanking Isaac to him by the collar of his hoodie. “I asked you a question.”

“B-because I’m stupid?” he sputters in fear.

“Fuck, you moron! You can’t even answer something simple!” 

Mr Lahey’s veiny, red face shadows the cowering form of Isaac. 

The boy’s wide eyes frantically search for an escape.

But he’s in Scott’s bed. He doesn’t need an escape. 

__

 

Isaac’s rest had been punctured by tears and unwelcome thoughts. He would slip out of consciousness, only to wake distressed, and only calmed when he realised that it was Scott there in the bed with him. 

Was Isaac still supposed to want his father? He didn’t know. 

He had heard Melissa leave the house that morning. It must have been late on; the bedroom was bright and Melissa had worked a late shift the evening before. 

Isaac’s eyes are firmly open by the time he hears a rhythmical knock at the door. He glances at Scott and, not wishing to disturb him, lightly leaves the bed and pads off to the hall. 

The visitors are Jackson and Lydia, carrying pizza boxes, and Stiles, bearing a bag of Isaac’s clothes. 

“How are you?” Lydia asks softly.

Just as it was with Scott, Isaac struggles to meet their eyes. “I’m okay, thanks.”

Stiles holds out the plastic bag with Isaac’s garments. “My dad let me into your house this morning. I had to ask to go in, seeing as it’s a crime scene and everything. But I picked up a few shirts, jeans, your pillowcase…” 

Isaac nods and plucks up the courage to smile at Stiles, taking the bag. 

Stiles smiles back, his eyebrows raising pleasantly. 

And then Isaac turns towards Jackson’s general direction. “I’m sorry for what I said to you.”

“Hey, it’s okay. You were in a bad place. 

 

“And I can’t thank you all enough for what you’ve done.”

“It’s the least we could do.” 

Their heads turn to where bare feet are brushing the floor. 

“I was letting you sleep,” Isaac defends.  
“Thanks. But voices carry through this house,” Scott smiles. “Besides, I wasn’t going to miss lunch.”

Isaac, Scott and the trio of friends stand in quiet comfort in the McCall family hall. As Isaac places his hand in Scott’s, he isn’t sure of what will happen now. There is so much confusion and messy emotions, and there are school and living arrangements to be sorted. He doesn’t know what will play out in his future and he can’t even be sure of what will happen in the next few minutes. But he does know one thing. 

Surrounded by his friends, he feels alright.


	14. Epilogue

Isaac slings his backpack on and zips up his hoodie as he skips down the stairs. Passing through the kitchen, he selects a piece of buttered toast from the table and crams it into his mouth. 

“Good morning!” greets one of the people sitting at the table. 

“Morning,” he smiles. 

“Have you finished your college applications yet?”

“I completed the essay last night.”

“That’s great, Isaac.”

“You can read it, if you like. And maybe tell me how to improve it?”

“Of course! Give it to us when you get back later.”

The family at the table are friendly figures. They’re an older couple, a male and a female both in their sixties. Isaac is their second foster child. The first is sitting at the table in a high chair. She flashes her teeth with glee at the curly-haired boy. Isaac swishes his hand back and forth, their secret greeting. 

“Say hello to Scott from us.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“And don’t be back too late!” the female calls as Isaac slips out of the front door. 

Isaac grabs his bike and pedals with enthusiasm through the leafy suburb and then across town to Scott’s house. 

Isaac ignores the turnoff he used to take to get to the graveyard. He hasn’t seen a shovel or that mouldy gray dirt since the arrest. 

Isaac knocks on Scott’s door. 

Scott flings it open, grasps the other boy’s waist and pulls them together with a resounding kiss. 

“We have all day,” he mutters into Isaac’s mouth.

“Nobody home?”

“Nope.” Scott’s lips pop against Isaac’s. 

“Well, I’ve got nowhere else I have to be,” the curly-haired boy smiles. 

Scott leads a happy Isaac inside and slams the door. 

Outside, the air is fresh with summer bulbs. The sky is a singing blue. A hummingbird flutters past the house, the brilliant turquoise streak on its wings beating a fluid symbol into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we made it to the end! Thank you for reading this, and thank you to all who have commented and left kudos x

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello there! I'm excited to be posting my first fic. Feel free to let me know what you think.


End file.
